The Crawley Heir
by Gwdihw
Summary: AU. Robert and Cora have a son who is two years older than Mary and this is how their life plays out had they not had to worry about the entail, had Mary never been engaged to Patrick and if Matthew Crawley had not had any reason to enter their lives...
1. Chapter 1

Welcome home

July 1911

Eliot Crawley's stomach curled up in excitement as Downton Abbey came into view but, being English and a gentleman, of course, he veiled his enthusiasm with a stiff upper lip. It was all exactly as it had been four years ago. Unlike America, which seemed to transform before his very eyes, Downton was safe and constant and exquisitely idyllic; or at least it was idyllic if you lived on the right side of the stairs.

As the car bumped along the long, gravelly drive, Edward spotted his family outside the front door, flanked by an army of servants, half of whom Edward didn't recognise.

Despite his promise to himself to keep composure, Edward practically cartwheeled out of the car as soon as it came to a stop, not even waiting for the footman to get the door. He scooped his mother up and twirled her around, ignoring Cora's protests to put her down. Leaving her go, Edward grasped his father's hand warmly, their eyes meeting and translating all the love that their time period, their nationality and their sex wouldn't allow them to express openly.

'The prodigal son returns,' Mary teased archly, lifting an eyebrow and allowing Eliot to kiss her on either cheek. She was playing it cool, but Eliot knew she was unnerved to see how he had changed, just as he was unnerved to see his sixteen-year-old sister replaced by a grown woman.

Edith, too, was no longer a teenager; well, technically nineteen was a teenager, but only just. It was Sybil, however, who seemed most changed. The little girl he knew and loved had disappeared.

'We've missed you so much,' Sybil said softly.

'It's wonderful to have you back,' Edith said with a quick smile.

Eliot suppressed a grin at the realisation that neither of them had changed, really. Sybil was being sincere; Edith was not.

Cora beamed at her only son and took his arm to lead him inside.

'We have tea ready for you and we're all dying to hear about your adventures,' she said warmly. 'Your letters didn't give nearly enough detail!'

'Mama, you know I'm lousy at writing letters,' Eliot sighed.

Robert raised his eyebrows. 'Lousy? Good God, Harvard has made an American of you! Carson, I think I'm going to need something strong in my tea as soon as we get inside.'

They settled themselves down in the library, bursting with all the affection that couldn't transfer easily across the Atlantic Ocean.

'Well, I hardly know where to begin,' Eliot said, rubbing his hands together and leaning forward. Robert noted his overly-relaxed posture, slouching forward to lean on his knees but he bit his tongue. He was thrilled to have his son back in the family home and wouldn't start criticising the bad habits that student life had inflicted on him, not today, anyway.

'Granny will be over shortly,' Mary said, taking a sip of Earl Grey. 'So you better sit up properly before she gets here or she might disown you.'

Eliot rolled his eyes but took the comment in the spirit in which it was meant, straightening up a little.

'Harvard was magnificent! You would have loved it, Mary, all the history!' Eliot started, spreading his fingers to gesture as he spoke, an infectious grin spreading as he spoke. 'And everyone was so friendly. I've invited a few of my chums over for the hunt later in the year, I hope you don't mind?'

'Not at all, dear,' Cora said. 'It'll be nice to have more Americans in the house.'

'Will it?' Mary asked with her trademark sarcasm.

'You must have been sad to say goodbye,' Edith said.

'Terribly so!' Eliot admitted. 'But we fitted in plenty of adventures before I left. We saw Boston and New York and Chicago and we into Canada to Toronto!' his eyes glowed with excitement. 'But, as usual, I'm spending far too much time talking about myself. What's happening at Downton?'

Mary sighed. 'Which of us are getting married, do you mean? That is, after all, the only adventure we could possibly have.'

Cora shot her daughter a pained look, begging her not to start anything but understanding her frustration.

'As a matter of fact, Patrick has proposed to me,' Edith said, blushing pink. The rest of the family avoided looking at each other and Eliot's mouth fell open.

'Cousin Patrick?' he asked.

'Of course,' Edith answered. 'What other Patrick is there?'

'That's terrific news,' Eliot said carefully, glancing at his two other sisters, trying to gauge what they thought. Sybil looked genuinely pleased, but then she was a born romantic and Mary probably didn't care enough to form an opinion on the matter.

'We're getting married next April,' Edith continued, consciously blocking out the lukewarm sentiments of those around her.

'A spring wedding – how lovely,' Eliot remarked.

'We've decided to honeymoon in New York,' Edith said. 'The Titanic should be ready for her maiden trip by then, so we're hoping to get tickets for that!' Her eyes lit up in modest delight. Although she knew it was no great match, she loved Patrick and she couldn't help but feel glad that she was marrying before Mary.

It wasn't until the next day that Eliot managed to catch Mary alone to get the truth out of her. In spite of constantly winding each other up, a habit which came back as though they had never passed four years apart, there was also an unshakeable honesty between them.

Mary was reading in the garden when she heard her brother's footsteps crunched impatiently towards her.

'Oh, dear,' she sighed without looking up. 'I suppose it was only a matter of time before the Spanish Inquisition showed up.'

'How did you know it was me?' Eliot asked, standing with his hands on his hips.

'Please, servants don't stamp and Papa certainly doesn't. Who else could it have been?'

Eliot sat down beside her and gave her a hard look. 'Edith and Patrick? How did that even happen? I thought he was in love with you?'

Mary shrugged. 'That was years ago. I made in perfectly plain to him early on that we would never marry. He has no money and no position, so why should I marry him?'

Eliot laughed. 'I don't believe you are so harsh, even if you want us all to think so.'

She carried on as though she had not heard. 'Anyway, once I had relinquished my control over him, he turned to Edith. They both seem happy, at any rate, although I can't say being in love had made Edith more pleasant.'

They stopped talking for a bit as a footman glided over to offer them glasses of lemonade.

'What about you?' Eliot asked Mary.

'Me? Why, I have bigger fish to fry!' she said with a smirk. Eliot was tempted to ask the name of the fish in question but knew it would do no good; Mary never said anything before she was ready.

'By the way,' Eliot said, lowering his voice, a mischievous sparkle igniting in his eyes. 'I've noticed that there has been a considerable improvement regarding the aesthetic appearance of the staff.' He gave a nod to the retreating form of the dark-haired footman.

Mary tutted in exasperation. 'You're not still carrying on with all that, are you? I mean, nobody cares what boys get up to at Eton, but it's time to grow up! For all the talk of us girls getting married, Papa is eager to see you settle down and produce a few heirs!'

Eliot shook his head in amusement. 'Never mind. We better get inside, we'll need to change for dinner soon.'


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The family were on their way back from London after the season and Mrs Hughes was on her customary tour of the rooms, making sure that the housemaids were not cutting any corners or missing out jobs, her keys jangling ominously. Gwen dropped her head nervously as the housekeeper passed by, her hands shaking a little.

Anna smiled.

'There's no need to be frightened of Mrs Hughes,' Anna told Gwen. 'Not if you work hard and do your best.'

'I just don't want to make any mistakes in my first week,' Gwen muttered. 'Mum and Dad would be horrified if I was sent packing!'

'Don't be silly!' Anna chided. 'They aren't going to get rid of you for missing out a patch of dust. They're fairer than that!'

'If you say so,' Gwen said dubiously. Moving from a little country farm in the middle of nowhere to the Abbey was something to get used to and everybody seemed intimidating except for Anna.

Gwen and Anna left the drawing room to continue cleaning the other rooms, passing Mr Watson on the way. Gwen's pulse quickened as she passed the valet, then she immediately told herself off. If Mrs Hughes knew she was harbouring an infatuation, she would certainly lose her job, even if the infatuation was for a tall, dashing, smartly dressed man with shining chestnut hair and sea-green eyes that there was little hope of resisting.

Mr Watson winked at Gwen as they passed and she quickly looked at the floor, her cheeks flaming scarlet.

Fortunately, Anna didn't notice anything and Gwen struggled quickly to regain composure.

'How was London?' Anna asked him politely. 'Have you only just arrived back?'

'Yes, Thomas and William are unpacking the suitcases now. It was pleasant, as it always is this time of year. Can't talk now, though, ladies, must dash!' He flashed a last charming smile before leaving and Anna shook her head, amused.

'How did the interviews go?' Mrs Hughes asked Mrs Patmore at the dinner table.

'Interviews?' Carson asked. Even though the hiring of the female staff was not under his jurisdiction, he still could not quite stop himself from getting involved.

'Mrs Patmore needs a new kitchen maid,' Mrs Hughes explained.

'Oh?' Carson frowned. 'Whatever happened to Beth?'

'Bess. She went and got married,' Mrs Patmore sighed. 'And she was only seventeen. Honestly, who gets married at seventeen?' Mrs Hughes nodded in sympathy.

'Have you found anyone promising?'

'Well,' Mrs Patmore said, thinking. 'Two were absolutely hopeless and the third was only a little bit hopeless. Tiny little mouse of a girl called Daisy, she was. She looked as though a strong wind would carry her away, but she's from a big family so she'll be used to working hard.'

'Well, that's good,' Mrs Hughes said. 'Why don't you give the wee girl a go?'

'I think I will, yes,' Mrs Patmore conceded.

Robert and Eliot were walking around the gardens. Eliot felt a sense of foreboding, knowing that it must be serious if his father wanted to have a word with him far away from everybody else.

'I've been meaning to talk to you ever since you got back,' Robert admitted, confirming Eliot's hunch. 'London didn't seem the place to do it for some reason.'

'What about?' Eliot asked cautiously.

Robert didn't know how to express himself diplomatically. He loved his son and didn't want to upset him, but he needed to make his point as well.

'I understand that in this day and age young men want to go to University and explore the world, but I feel that it's important to remind you that there must be a limit to it. You need to start thinking about finding a wife and starting a family of your own.' Robert paused and glanced over to his son to see how the news was being received. Eliot swallowed hard but didn't show whether or not he agreed with what his father was saying. Robert proceeded. 'And it wouldn't hurt for you to take more of an interest in the running of the estate either, now that you're a man.'

'I see,' Eliot said softly, almost under his breath. His shoulders sagged. 'I knew this was coming, even if I hoped it wouldn't come quite yet.'

'Really?' Robert countered. 'For how long did you expect me to permit your gallivanting?'

Eliot didn't answer.

'Murray's coming up next week with a lot of the paperwork,' Robert said. 'We can start going through it together then,' he suggested.

Eliot nodded. 'Very well.'

Eliot's heart was lead and he felt as though he were a wild creature being forced into a tiny cage. He was too distraught to even notice and admire Thomas as he went inside, marching into the drawing room with tears in his eyes.

Thomas watched him go, curious as to what had upset him. What on Earth could have happened to unbalance the charmed life of Eliot Crawley?

Thomas' hand reached slowly for the door handle, but then he snatched it back. No, he had to remember his place, and interfering certainly wasn't it.

'What did Papa want to talk to you about?' Mary asked Eliot.

He laughed ruefully. 'He wanted me to grow old all at once.'

'He wanted you to grow _up,_ you mean. Is that such a big thing to ask?' Mary asked.

Eliot looked up at her in surprise. 'I thought that you would be more understanding than that?'

'Eliot, I do understand. Life, however, isn't very understanding, life means having to make compromises. Do you think I'm happy waiting around for a husband to pick me? Do you hear me complaining about it?'

'Why don't you complain?'

She huffed. 'Because it wouldn't do any good, that's why!'

Eliot smiled in sympathy and gripped her shoulders in a sideways hug. The conversation was quickly heading down a very depressing route, so Eliot tried to steer it back on to more light-hearted ground.

'So, these fish you're frying?' he asked with a cheeky grin.

'God, you gossip worse than any woman,' Mary chided. 'If you absolutely have to know, I have two possible candidates who I am writing to.' She paused for dramatic effect. 'There's Evelyn Napier, with whom I believe that you are already acquainted, and I have also just received a letter from Lord Philip Wolsey. We met at Aunt Rosamund's ball a few weeks ago.'

'Yes, I do remember,' Eliot said, suddenly. 'The old man. I thought you seemed to be getting on swimmingly.'

Mary's eyebrows shot up. He wasn't an old man, at least he wasn't too much of an old man if he had vast wealth and a Marquis' title.

'Doesn't he have a daughter around Sybil's age?' Eliot asked innocently.

Mary sighed. 'Yes, but I can overlook that.' She smiled to herself. 'He's asked to come to dinner next week.'

'He's eager, then!'

Still, Eliot couldn't quite make himself feel pleased for Mary, knowing what sort of life a marriage to a much older man would bring her. He felt even more anxious for Mary than himself, knowing that she was even more paralysed into inaction than he was.

'What about you?' Mary asked abruptly. 'Did any of the fair maidens at court catch your eye? Out of the dozens who would love to be the Countess of Grantham one day?'

Eliot shook his head. 'You know me; I'm picky. I'll let you know when I find someone and I'll bring her to you for inspection.'

Daisy was absolutely terrified. She stood in front of Mrs Patmore as the latter reeled off an impossibly long lists of things she was supposed to get done that morning, only half of which Daisy thought she understood.

'Yes, Mrs Patmore,' she stammered nervously. _What was asphaltum when it was at home?_ she wondered.

'Start with cutting vegetables,' Mrs Patmore said at the end, to Daisy's relief. She knew what cutting vegetables meant, at least… or at least she thought she did; no sooner had she picked up a knife than Mrs Patmore screeched in her ear again for not having 'the right technique'.

'Do you want the Earl and Countess of Grantham to eat food that looks as though it's been chopped up for the pigs?' Mrs Patmore asked, snatching the knife from Daisy and demonstrating the right way of doing it.

There were no more mishaps for a while, not until the footmen came down to collect the luncheon, anyway. Daisy's breath was taken away by their livery; she had never seen anything so gorgeous.

'I've never seen anyone dressed so smart,' she muttered quietly to Mrs Patmore, daring to glance up and look at the face of one of the footmen. To her, he was a raven-haired, sapphire-eyed, alabaster-browed romantic hero who made her wish she could write poetry so as to describe him. With a sigh, Daisy picked up the potato she had finished peeling and dropped in distractedly, not in the pot she was aiming for, but on the floor.

'DAISY!'

Lizzy, the other kitchen maid, sat next to Daisy later, offering her a cup of strong tea.

'Don't worry about it, pet, Mrs Patmore's bark is worse than her bite!' she said comfortingly. She winked. 'And I don't blame you a bit for being distracted by Thomas. He's a handsome devil, but with extra devil,' she laughed.

Daisy twisted her hands, embarrassed, but Lizzie didn't notice and prattled on.

'He's so handsome, it's a crying shame he is like he is. It's a waste, I tell you.'

Daisy was confused. 'What's a waste?'

'Never mind, we better be getting back to work,' Lizzie said hastily, tugging on Daisy's arm unnecessarily to drag her back into the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Lady Mary spared no effort in making sure that she was at her most beautiful the evening that Lord Wolsey came for dinner while Edith perched behind her on the ottoman looking superior. Her every gesture screamed 'I already have a fiancé'.

'Stop looking so smug, Edith,' Mary said sharply, catching her sister's expression in the mirror and allowing Sybil to fuss over her hair.

'Would you really be happy marrying a man so much older than you?' Sybil asked with concern, allowing Anna to take over the hairdressing and sitting down on the bed.

'Of course,' Mary replied. 'And anyway, once he's bed-ridden with old age, I can do what I like.'

Sybil winced at the cruel words but ultimately sympathised with Mary. The thought of marriage being the only option for women like them, of being essentially powerless unless they had the reflected power of a husband, was already stirring an angry resentment in her young heart. She was not yet sure what could be done about it, but her anger at the situation was already germinating.

Mary studied her reflection. 'Thank you, Anna. We ought to be going down now.'

Patrick was the first guest to arrive, irking Mary as she was impatient for Lord Wolsey. He was a tall, pleasant-looking young man who did not seem entirely at ease in his own skin; his light, greyish eyes shone with too much eagerness to please, to be liked.

'Edith, my darling, good evening,' Patrick said, smiling, kissing his fiancé's hand, but his eyes flickered involuntarily to Mary for a second. She smiled winningly back as she swept past.

Eliot came bounding over with enthusiasm which certain parties considered excessive.

'Patrick! Just the man I need have a word with!' he exclaimed, grabbing his cousin and dragging him away from Edith. 'Sorry, Edith.' Edith shot her brother a waspish glare and crossed her arms.

'Don't frown, Edith dear,' the Dowager Countess remarked. 'You don't need wrinkles on top of everything else. Robert,' she continued, ignoring Edith's indignant huff, 'I thought you said that University would make Eliot grow up?'

'Not tonight, Mama,' Robert said shortly.

'What did you want to talk to me about?' Patrick asked, a little wary at the ebullience in Eliot's manner.

'Have you ever thought of going into business?' Eliot asked.

Patrick just looked amused. 'Your grandmother was right – you have turned American on us!'

Eliot made an impatient, swatting gesture, dismissing the comment. 'Does it matter where I had the idea from? Some friends of mine are coming over from New York next month and they're keen to invest in British industry, and I really want to get involved! I told them you were just the man we needed, what with reading economics at Cambridge!'

He clapped an eager hand on Patrick's shoulder, who did not immediately reply.

'What sort of business?' Patrick asked.

'Oh, I'm not sure,' Eliot said carelessly, disinterested in the minor details. Patrick looked almost amused by this admission. 'I just want to be a part of something exciting!'

'But you _are_ part of something exciting,' Patrick corrected, nonplussed. 'You're a part of the future of Downton. You're going to build a legacy.'

Eliot shrugged, casting a furtive look about; nobody was close to them or interested in what they were saying.

'I feel so trapped by it all sometimes, after the freedom of Havard,' he muttered. 'I think all that my father wants to do is mould me into a version of himself. I'm sure he has my valet spying on me to make sure I behave properly.'

Patrick was perplexed, wanting to empathise, but he just could not comprehend Eliot's malaise.

Eliot shook his head, grinning suddenly, if a little forcedly. 'Don't mind me! Come on, we better get back to the party or they'll be wondering what we're doing skulking here! I'll find out more details on the business for you,' he finished cheerfully, much to Patrick's dismay.

Eliot went over to Mary and shook the hand of the stately, iron-haired gentleman that she was with.

'My dear Lord Wolsey,' he said warmly, gripping the older man's hand. 'It's wonderful to see you again!' The lord met this statement with a tepid smile.

The dinner ran smoothly and elegantly and Carson was pleased with the effortless grandeur of the evening, from the starters being laid softly on the tablecloth to the moment where the ladies swept away to play bridge.

The gentlemen of the party remained, indulging in port and cigars; they skated across the topics of politics and investment and business and other such matters deemed too intellectually-challenging for the female mind.

'Of course, I've always invested heavily into shipping,' Lord Wolsey said quietly. 'It's safe – we always need ships.'

'That _is_ true,' Lord Grantham conceded. 'Although, I've been advised to look at railroads.'

'Will we really be relying on trains so much now that motorcars are gaining currency?' one of the other guests wondered politely.

'I'm sure of it,' Lord Grantham assured. 'Especially in North America. There are vast areas of land which remain untouched.'

'But,' Eliot started, astounded by his own reckless daring at what he was about to say, 'haven't any of you thought of becoming more actively involved in business instead of just investing and hoping for the best. Don't you feel powerless with somebody else behind the wheel?'

Patrick's eyes flashed an anxious warning and all the other men in the room turned slowly to look at Eliot as though he had suggested they strip naked and dance around the library. Those men liked having somebody else behind the wheel: that is why they all hired chauffeurs.

'Eliot, it hardly befits the nobility to undertake a business pursuit,' Lord Grantham reminded.

Eliot had not intended to break any shocking news to his father at that moment, but he doubted that he would ever have the courage again to do it, so he ploughed ahead blindly.

'Yes, but the world is changing! I'm- I'm going to Manchester next month to meet some friends from America. I'm going into business with them.' Eliot closed his eyes instinctively at his confession, afraid of the reaction he would receive.

Lord Grantham stood up, shocked.

'You will do no such thing!' he thundered, but managed to rein in his rage before blurting out anything else. As angry as he was, the place to berate his son was not in front of guests.

He sat back down. 'This is not the moment to discuss such a thing,' he said coldly.

Eliot felt his breathing constrict. He was never going to be allowed to go… and yet, something inside him kicked against the very thought of needing to ask permission. He was an adult, for goodness' sake; he should be able to do what he wanted and not have to pander to every whimsy of the family.

'Excuse me, gentleman,' Eliot said, his voice only just about steady. Patrick's eyes followed him sorrowfully out of the room.

In the hallway, Eliot was shaking with rage: rage at being treated like a child, rage at being controlled and rage at the beautiful, gilded prison which he lived in. Knowing that he could not face the ladies in such a state of agitation, he slipped away into one of the smaller reception rooms.

Thomas saw Eliot go, gripped with a morbid fascination for the young Crawley heir who he had seen in such a state on two occasions now. Thomas was not usually one to get involved in the emotional affairs of other, because he knew from experience that he could not trust himself to remain detached. No, better by far to remain the fiend carved of ice with an angel's face and a devil's heart. Nobody felt sorry for the devil, that was sure.

Almost unconsciously, Thomas realised all of a sudden that he was slowly turning the doorknob and following Mr Eliot into the room. The young man's face jerked up from where it had been buried in his hands, shocked to see Thomas.

For a whole minute, Thomas forgot himself. He forgot that he was a servant and that he could not simply walk in a stare at a member of the family.

'What?' Eliot asked, but not harshly; his voice was soft and heart-wrenching and broken.

'Could I be of any assistance?' Thomas asked, not knowing what else to do; he lowered his gaze and kept his eyes fixed on the floor, partly because it was a footman's job to show the upmost reverence and partly because he could not trust himself to look at this intensely vulnerable creature and not do something stupid.

Eliot laughed bitterly and stood up. Thomas still avoided looking at the other man, but heard footsteps nearing him.

'Can you help? Can you talk my father into the twentieth century? Can you give me a life where I make my own decisions? Can you set me free?'

Eliot was standing very close to Thomas now, his voice an urgent whisper, and the footman dared to glance up at him. Although it was generally rather difficult to sympathise with the aristocracy, as their problems seemed so mundane in comparison to the problems faced by the people on the other extreme of society (Am I going to eat today? Will my children live to adulthood? How do I support myself if I get sick?), the anguish in Eliot was real and moving.

'No, I can't,' Thomas muttered.

'No,' Eliot mused. 'You can't. But thank you anyway. Still,' he said, dressing his face up with a smile. 'Things will look better in the morning – at least that's what my mother always says!'

'Mine, too,' Thomas said, although he was not sure why he was offering up personal information which Mr Eliot surely could not care about.

Eliot smiled again, more broadly. 'Then I suppose we both have wise mothers. Goodnight, Thomas. Would you mind dreadfully telling the rest of them that I'm feeling unwell?'

Thomas watched the Crawley climb the stairs, wondering what on Earth had just happened between them.


End file.
